


Oblivious to the Obvious

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But mostly fluff, Confessions of love, Did I mention fluff?, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mary Ships It, Understanding Mary, breaking up, set after sherlock season 3, there was a season 4?, what season 4?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9985037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: "Promise me one more thing. Tell him! Tell Sherlock!"





	

**Author's Note:**

> What could have happened after season 3, if Moftiss cared for us at all  
> Beta by the amazing AuntieMabel <3  
> English is my second language, so bear with me please

John lay awake in the middle of the night staring at the ceiling above the bed he shared with his pregnant wife. The combination of the street light in front of their house and the frame of their window painted rectangular patterns on the upper right corner of the room, which seemed to be particularly interesting for a man who was unable to sleep. John forced himself to look away from the wall and study Mary’s sleeping face.

He realized he had not looked at her for quite some time now, not intensely. He knew what she looked like, knew every line on her face, but she was still a stranger. God, he had tried to forgive her and some weeks ago he had even convinced himself that he did. The willingness to forgive and the complete loss of trust did not work well together, not at all. He had loved this woman, with all his heart. She had saved his life, filled the void that Sherlock had left as well as she could. Thinking of it, he would have been able to live with her past, he really would have. What he could not live with were the lies and the fact that she had killed Sherlock, not even wasting a second to think about what the loss would do to John.

He looked at her face and he felt nothing. The anger, the resentment were gone, leaving a nothingness that numbed, paralyzed him. His eyes wandered down his wife’s body, resting at the swell that contained his child, his daughter and with her the reason he was still here. The only reason.

Careful not to wake Mary, John placed his hand on the belly, only separated by the fabric of the duvet. Objectively speaking, the sex had been good. They knew where to touch, how to move, even with the baby between them. Still, tonight it could have been anybody underneath him, he wouldn’t have cared. And that thought scared him, scared him for their daughter, who would be born to parents who could not love each other anymore, not even if they tried.

He thought about his own father, about how much he had hated him for leaving his mother, Jennifer struggling to raise her two small children. John would not repeat his mistakes, flee his responsibility.

“You just realized it.” Mary’s voice was soft and oh so sad. He looked up to her face again, searching for something, anything in her eyes.

“You just realized you don’t love me anymore. I knew you would someday. Tomorrow, in ten years…”

John let himself fall back into his pillow, watching the pattern on the wall again.

“I’m sorry.” He was. He wished they could just be the happy little family everyone thought they were, living their happy little lives.

He felt her move more than he saw it, struggling to get up at eight months pregnant. Her footsteps were heavy on the wooden floor, as she moved to the bathroom.

John got up, got dressed. It was almost three now, the car of their neighbor working night shifts had just moved into the parking lot as John packed his bag. A few shirts, two pairs of jeans, his favorite book.

He turned around so see Mary in the doorway. She looked tired, a tiredness that had nothing to do with the time of the day. She had wrapped herself in her blue robe that was almost too small to cover her belly.

“Will you promise me something?”

He just looked at her.

“Will you be there for her?”

“I will. Whenever she needs me. Every day. Every second.”

Mary smiled, rubbing the swell of her belly with such love in her eyes, John wanted to cry.

“That’s good. She deserves that. Promise me one more thing. Tell him!”

He must have looked totally clueless, as she smiled at him.

“Sherlock. Tell him you love him. And don’t look at me like that. I know you do, you are just very slow to realize what you feel.”

John closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could not think about Sherlock, not here, not now.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could…” His own voice sounded foreign in his ears and he stopped speaking, knowing he did not need to end his sentence.

“I know you do, John. You already did so much. You gave me the chance to be Mary Watson and I was never happier in my life. Who cares if it is not for forever?”

John moved towards her, bag still in hand and hugged her tight. She seemed so small, not at all like the strong, witty woman he had once loved. “Thank you.” He said, not knowing what he was thanking her for.

 

* * *

 

 

Baker Street was covered in darkness; still 221B seemed like the North Star that guided his way home. He got his keys out of his pocket and walked up the stairs in the dark. This was home; he knew every inch of it.

He flipped the light switch in the living room and was surprised with the sight of Sherlock sitting in his chair in what had been blackness seconds before. The consulting detective must have heard him coming, but his face was still plastered with surprise.

“I never thought you would leave. I knew you did not love her any more, but I never thought you would leave.”

John’s bag fell to the floor. Where there had been emptiness for the last months, there were now more emotions than he could handle, more than he could distinguish. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he heard the tears in his voice.

“Does that make me a bad man?”

“No.” Sherlock’s response came so fast, it had to be honest.

Moments later John found himself wrapped up in an embrace so desperately needed by the both of them; it made him cry even more. He buried his face in the fabric of Sherlock’s robe and somehow, his scent made everything better.

“I meant what I said. You are the best and bravest man I know.”

John laughed at that, resting his forehead on his best friends shoulder.

“I thought you hate repeating yourself.”

“I do. You still needed to hear it again.”

“Thank you. I mean it, Sherlock, I... thank you.” They stood there for a while, close to one another. The house was quiet, except for the tap in the kitchen which had been ever since the day they had moved in.

“Can I…?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock removed himself from the hug, returning to his arm chair, where he sat down cross-legged.

“You’ll have to buy a new bed though. I had planned to turn your room into a lab. Mrs. Hudson sold your bed and your wardrobe and a few other things.” Sherlock moved his hand in a way that told John he would not even bother to think about what those other things were.

“That… That is no problem, Sherlock. I didn’t even know I would come back, so how could you.”

Sherlock looked up to him, fingertips resting against his lips.

“I hoped you would. This is your home.” Home. Yes, he was finally home.

John got out of his jacket, leaving it on one of the chairs in the kitchen. The sofa would do for one or two nights. “No.” John turned around and found his best friend in the same position, eyes now closed.

_Tell him._

_Not now._

“Not the sofa. You can have my bed for now. I already slept four hours tonight.”

John just nodded and made his way to Sherlock’s room. He kicked off his shoes and slipped underneath the duvet.

_I hoped you would._

They would need to talk first thing in the morning. For now, John fell asleep, face buried in a pillow that smelled like Sherlock. And home.

 

* * *

 

 

The first thing John did in the morning was smile. He opened his eyes to find himself in a bed that was not his own with someone sitting next to him, back against the headboard that was not his wife. Sherlock was reading something on his phone, still dressed in pajamas and his robe.

“'Morning.”

Sherlock said nothing, just looked up from his phone for a moment, as John got into a sitting position himself. For a while, no one spoke and the silence should have been weird, but it wasn’t. Not between the two of them.

John moved his head to look at his best friend. Some of the black curls, as untamable as the man they belonged to, fell onto porcelain skin, like tar on fresh snow. John’s eyes followed the line of the nose, down to those incredible lips which would be the most incredible part of Sherlock’s face, were it not for the pale eyes that had a different colour every time John looked at them. Beautiful. Otherworldly beautiful, containing galaxies.

Those eyes looked back at John now, full of curiosity, always looking for data, so they could feed the brain behind them with information. John had been convinced there was nothing more for Sherlock to find out about him, but there seemed to be now.

_He can read you like a book._

_Kiss him._

“Yes, please.” Sherlock seemed suddenly shy now, his voice trembling. Those two inconspicuous words changed everything.

John pressed his eyes close for a second, trying to process what was going to happen, what should have happened years ago.

Sherlock hadn’t moved, eyes fixed on John, hands closed around his phone so tightly that John feared he would break it. He took them into his; his best friend’s fingers were cold.

“Hey.” John tried to sound as soft as possible. “I’m as nervous as you are, at the least. Let’s just keep it slow.”

He smiled, his thumb now drawing patterns onto the back of Sherlock’s left hand.

“Are you sure you want me to kiss you?”

“Of course I am sure, John. What kind of idiotic question is that?”

John couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Sherlock was still as rude as ever, even as he felt insecure, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Good.”

He lifted one hand to cup his best friend’s cheek, his thumb rubbing over the soft skin, as he moved closer.

_Not as sharp as they look, those cheekbones._

John licked his lips

“I have never…” 

“Me neither. Well, not with a man. But we're good at figuring things out together, aren’t we?”

“Affirmative.”

They exchanged nervous smiles.

“Well then, time to try something new.”

He didn’t waste another second, pressing his lips to Sherlock's mouth firmly. It was not the best first kiss he had ever shared with another person, but the most important one. Sherlock Holmes, from the day they had met, was the love of his life, his sun to orbit and the opposite pole that drew him close.

He moved back a few inches. “Still learning,” he mumbled and kissed his best friend again. Their closed lips moved against each other for a while and John sighed into the kiss. This was everything he needed, clumsy kisses from his consulting detective, long fingers grabbing his jumper and unruly curls tickling his forehead.

John moved, straddling Sherlock's hips. Their mouths parted for a while, as the blogger rubbed his nose against the detective’s, kissing the tip playfully.

“Oh, we will be brilliant at this.”

He followed the lines of Sherlock’s face with his fingers, petting the silky hair once in a while.

“Wouldn’t mind practicing though.” Sherlock smirked up at him.

_He is the most beautiful creature on this planet._

“Sherlock Holmes, are you flirting with me?”

“I have been flirting with you for years. You just did not see. How someone as oblivious to the obvious could become blogger of the world’s only consulting detective is beyond me.”

“Well, this detective bloke's got good taste in men.”

“Obviously.” Sherlock moved his head up, initiating another kiss and it took a surprised John a second to respond. They opened their lips, including tongues for the first time. Sherlock tasted of mint and black tea and whatever it was that Sherlock Holmeses tasted like.

Love gushed out of John like blood out of a stab wound that had hit an artery, unstoppable, untamable. He felt overwhelmed, pressing into Sherlock desperate for an anchor and Sherlock, his wonderful Sherlock, wrapped his strong arms around him.

John pressed a brief kiss to his best friend’s lips before burying his face against the long, pale neck. He didn’t want anyone else beneath him ever again. This man was all he needed.

“You won’t need to buy another bed after all.”

They both started giggling at the same time, holding each other close. After a few minutes of pure happiness, John sat up again, cupping Sherlock’s face. Pale eyes looked up at him in such adoration; it made John’s heart race.

“I love you,” he said. And it had nothing to do with Mary.

**Author's Note:**

> Want more?  
> I could turn this into a parentlock fiction with toothrotting fluff, because that is my oxygen.  
> Comments are very much appreciated


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